


“Compelling”

by fannishliss



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Edgeplay, Episode Tag, F/M, Filming, Hand Feeding, Lingerie, Marks, Prostate Massage, Rode hard and put away wet, Spanking, Switching, Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-16 21:32:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1362457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  Dean goes back to Kansas City, where the museum curator found him compelling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**title: “Compelling”**  
author: [](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/)**fannishliss**  
rated: NC17, explicit, adults only  
spoilers: 9.16 Blade Runners  
pairing: Dean Winchester/Dr. McElroy, the curator  
warnings: BDSM, spanking  
4546 words

summary:  Dean goes back to Kansas City, where the museum curator found him compelling.

  
After they lost the First Blade to Crowley, Sam briefly debated with Dean what to do. Sam wanted to rifle St. Clair’s compound, but he needed to recast the entrance spell, and for that he needed to gather more ingredients.  Dean pointed out that the menagerie might have gotten loose with St. Clair’s death, and that they needed reinforcements. So, reluctantly the Winchesters retreated to the Bunker and put off St. Clair’s lair till another day.

Sam hit the books, as usual, while Dean lost no time getting started with repairing the paint job on the Impala.   When St. Clair had pressed the Blade into his hand, it felt like rage — but a consuming, inhuman, fiery rage like Dean had never known.  When the demons had defiled his Baby with their chickenscratch markings, the rage had been his own: sick, murderous rage that demanded payback.

But first it demanded coarse grit sandpaper. He couldn’t just touch it up — the gouges were deep, and he had to strip the paint all the way down to the steel.   Dean nearly cried as he sanded off the beautiful black paint, but with some good hard elbow grease the ugly writing was finally eradicated. After the primer dried, he applied several layers of factory grade top coat, and she looked as good as he could make her until the next complete repainting. The marks were gone from the Impala — but the traces remained.  He wouldn’t get those scars out of his head so easily.  Next he’d figure out some foolproof ways to ward demons off from approaching any part of his Baby.  But first, Dean needed a little downtime.

The better part of three days resolutely working on the Impala had kept Dean’s mind off what St. Clair had done to him, what he’d almost done with the Blade.  He could still feel the rage, how the Blade had taken over, and the horrible emptiness when St. Clair drained his will out of him.  He could still feel the Blade’s terrible bloodlust filling that void like whiskey fills a tumbler.  It had burned, and he had merely been the fuel, nothing more.

Somehow, Sam had talked him down, but even now, his arm ached for the Blade.  His empty hand itched for a weapon.  Getting out of the bunker, getting away from Sam (Sam’s stupid piles of books, stupid lackluster eyes, stupid studious shoulders) — he needed to get away, take his Baby for a spin and see how her new paint looked in the sunlight.

He was so gone.

He packed a backpack, mumbled something in the direction of Sam’s latest book, and let the roar of the Impala carry him away.

He was halfway back to Kansas City before he realized where he was heading. He laughed to himself, somewhere between amused and bitter.  Why the hell not?

He dug her card out of his wallet and made the call to Katherine McElroy.

“Doctor McElroy? This is Agent Lee.”

“Agent Lee,” the curator purred.  “How nice to hear from you again.  Have there been any new developments?”

“No,” Dean lied.  She didn’t need to know about their success in tracking down Magnus, or that they’d found the blade only to have it immediately snatched right out of their hands. If he were honest, Dean wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that.  “This is strictly a social call.  I thought I might — buy you a drink? I’m off the clock.”

Dean never bothered with elaborate lines.  He didn’t have to. The women he was interested in were usually interested in him in return, and they were eager to let him know.

“That sounds wonderful, Agent.  This has been such a terrible week here at the museum. The guards who were killed were very well-liked — and that poor girl, she was here doing research, we had to contact her parents.  It’s just been awful, trying to field all the questions; we have so few answers.”

McElroy’s voice was silky smooth on the phone.  Dean really didn’t know why he was calling her.  Except, maybe he did.

“It’s a bad situation,” Dean agreed.

“It is,” McElroy repeated with a sigh.

“So, I don’t know much about Kansas City.  Where’s a good place to meet?” Dean asked.

“There’s a great new place, Collection — it’s downtown, the Crossroads district. The ambiance isn’t the best, but they make really good artisanal cocktails,” she said.

“Okay…” The place was called Collection? What kind of a name was that for a bar? And how could a cocktail be artisanal?  But he just said, “Six?”

And she said, “Yes.” So it was a date.

Dean kept his fed clothes in the trunk.  He stopped at a gas station and put on his other fed suit, the one that fit him a little tighter.  He didn’t really give much thought to the color of his tie or how it matched his shirt, but he had a system: each of his two suits had four shirts with a coordinating tie for each one.  If it was Sam’s advice that he went by for his shirt/tie/suit combinations, what of it.  Whatever worked.

Walking into the bar, he couldn’t help scoping it out, force of habit, assessing every customer at a glance, checking all the exits, identifying defensive positions and offensive possibilities.  The main restaurant was loud and open, cafeteria style, but there was a smaller area set off as a bar, and nearby was a low stage that might have held a solo performer or a three or four piece band. The bar was a little more dimly lit than the rest of the place, and McElroy stood out, even in her officewear, her red hair glowing,  her shapely calves smooth in dark stockings on the bar stool.

She spotted him as soon as he entered and smiled when he approached, that heavy-lidded, knowing smile that made something in him want to sit up and show off.

“Agent Lee,” she purred.

“Doctor McElroy,” he answered.  He felt like he was back on the set of Dr. Sexy. It wasn’t a totally bad feeling — at least no one had shot him yet.

She had already ordered some sort of cocktail.  Dean didn’t have a clue when it came to hip new cocktails.  Between a mojito and a caipirinha, he could barely pronounce some of them.

“What are you having?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know,” she said.  “I gave the bartender free rein.”

“Oh,” Dean said.  She was giving him that eye again, the one that measured him up and down.  He squinted a little, not wanting to disappoint. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“You seem like a whiskey man to me,” she said.  “Bourbon.  Maybe, freshly squeezed pineapple juice, maybe a bit of coconut?” She signaled the bartender, who tweaked her specifications, quickly assembled the drink, and presented it to Dean, with some kind of herb sticking of it as a swizzle - maybe rosemary? Dean remembered the potted herbs Lisa kept on her back deck.

“To your health,” McElroy said, lifting her drink.

“L’chaim,” Dean returned, thinking of Lisa, but when McElroy smiled, it eased the burn.  He sipped his drink, smiling as he realized it was pretty much a pina colada.

“I’m sorry about what happened at the Museum,” Dean said, and meant it.

“Maybe if you find the Blade, you can bring justice to whoever did it,” McElroy suggested.

“That’s the job,” Dean said.  “It doesn’t always go the way we want.”

“Does it ever?” the curator asked.

“Sometimes,” Dean shrugged. “But listen — aren’t you hungry?”

“I could eat,” she said.

“Then I’ll see about getting us a table,” Dean said.  This wasn’t the kind of place he and Sam ever ate.  That was the whole point, wasn’t it.

The place seemed elegant and ritzy, but it wasn’t full, even on a Friday night.  They were seated as soon as they finished their drinks. The pineapple coconut bourbon had gone down well and Dean had kind of liked it: a good sign for the rest of the evening.

McElroy navigated the menu with ease, while Dean gazed at it in consternation.  There seemed to be about fifteen things to choose from, listed by their ingredients only.  He pointed at something in the middle of the menu that included the word shank, and McElroy appraised him again, silently.  He ordered a beer from the beer and wine list, which was a little more openly descriptive.  She ordered red wine.

Dean tried not to fumble his way through the meal.  He ate tidily enough, asked reasonably intelligent questions about her work and where she’d been before Kansas City, and concentrated on adapting just a few key facts when he told her about cases he and Sam had worked recently.

“Your colleague joined a cult?” she asked, non-judgmentally.

“I thought he was smarter than that, but love is blind.  Turns out his fiance and her father were completely unaware of the criminal side of things — the girl’s stepmom was way more of a fanatic than the guy she’d married.”

“You must see such shocking things,” McElroy said with a small smile.  “Antiquities, by definition, are dusty and far-removed from the passion and mayhem you encounter every day.”

“Until you find a guard room full of three dead bodies,” Dean pointed out.

Her eyes widened a little and she looked away. “Sorry,” Dean said.

“I still haven’t adjusted to the fact that three people are dead because of one of my acquisitions,” she said, apologetically.

“Some things just carry trouble along with them wherever they go.”

“Maybe,” McElroy said.

They finished their meal and split a rich chocolate dessert.  Dean watched as McElroy savored the flavors on her fork and felt his arousal stir.  He let it show in his eyes, and hers flashed in return.  This was going somewhere.

“Do you need a lift home?” he asked.

“Would that be that wise, Agent Lee?” she returned, daring him.

“Wise isn’t what you’re looking for,” he said plainly.

She lowered her chin in acknowledgment.

Dean signaled for the bill.  McElroy offered to split it with him, but what was the point of fake cards if you didn’t take advantage of them.  Dean led McElroy outside, guiding her toward the Impala with a light hand to the small of her back.

“Your car is beautiful,” she smiled.  The Impala gleamed immaculate under the street lights. “How does an FBI agent drive a such a gorgeous classic Chevy?”

Dean couldn’t help the swell of pride he felt when she admired his car.  “I spend days on the road.  My car means a lot to me,” he said.

“I can see that.”  McElroy ran a manicured hand along the Impala’s roof as he helped her into Sam’s seat, and closed the door after her.  Something about the woman put him on his best manners.

The Impala’s restrained roar reassured Dean as he drove McElroy home to her big Victorian on the edge of the old downtown.

“Nice place,” Dean said, as she invited him in.

“It’s too big,” she said.  “But since Bob died, I haven’t worked up the energy to sell.”

“Oh,” Dean said. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” she said, but shook it off.  “Two years — three in April. Time heals all wounds, you know.”

Dean did know.  He followed her to the beautifully appointed living room.

“How about a coffee?” she asked.

“That’d be great, thanks,” he said, and found himself a comfortable position on her leather couch.

She called from the kitchen. “I’ve thought about downsizing to a condo, but the location here is a dream.  And the house is beautiful.”

She soon returned with two tiny china cups of espresso. Dean sipped at his while she held herself back.

“Caffeine, the academic’s unavoidable addiction,” she explained with a wry grin.

“To your health,” Dean saluted with his little white cup.

“L’chaim,” she returned, smiling.

They finished their coffee in several swallows.

“May I be frank, Agent Lee?” said McElroy.

“If I can be surely,” Dean rejoined with a grin.

McElroy laughed.  “I like you. There’s something about you.  You’re not at all what I pictured from the FBI.  I’m so glad you called.”

“I’m glad too,” Dean returned.

“I — I hope I don’t give you the wrong idea,” she faltered.

Dean reached out then, and touched her shoulder lightly.

“Just say it,” Dean prompted.

“I want,” McElroy began.  Her gaze, so direct, finally faltered; her cultured voice, so low and powerful, fell to a whisper.  “I’d like you to tell me what to do.”

Dean swallowed.  He’d been here before, many times, on both sides of the power line, but it never ceased to affect him strongly.

“Do you have a safeword?” he asked.  He laid one finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his.

“Persimmon,” she said.  Her eyes were a beautiful, clear hazel, as she met his gaze and let him look.

“Persimmon,” he repeated, and they smiled.

“My name is Dean,” he said. “What do I call you?”

“Kate,” she answered.

“Nice to meet you, Kate,” Dean said, and pulled her in for a kiss.  Her lips were soft and open, and she was already begging for whatever he would give.

“Is this sexual, for you?” Dean asked.  For plenty of people, it was more about the endorphins, the boundaries broken, the aftercare.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Are you already wet?” he asked, feeling himself twitch in his dress trousers.

“Yes,” she said, blushing.

“So you want orders, and you want sex — do you like dirty talk?”

“Yes,” she said, and he saw the flush of arousal deepening on her face.

“You want me to use toys?”

She hesitated.  “Yes,” she said.

Dean could read that hesitation clear as a book.  “Assplay?”

She nodded, flushing again.

“Pain? I’m not okay with breaking the skin,” he said.

“Just — spanking,” she said.  “Your hand,” she said, shuddering with arousal.

“Restraints? Blindfolds?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” she said, eyes falling closed, breathing heavily already.

“Okay,” Dean said.  “I want you to relax, and lean back, and let me take care of you, okay, Kate?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Yes what?” Dean asked.

“Yes, Dean,” she answered.

“Good girl,” he said, and her face opened up at the praise.  No one had taken care of Dean like this in so long — since he’d shut Lisa out of his world.  But taking care of Kate — would be good.

He slipped one arm behind her neck, gentling her back against the couch.  Her lips were soft and lush —she tasted like coffee.  He unbuttoned her blouse and slipped a hand inside her bra, pinching at her nipple to hear her gasp.  He worked her breast with his hand until she moaned.  He felt time stretching out, the world narrowing to their shared breath.  He kissed her neck, nuzzled her ear.

She was breathing deep, little moans when he pinched or fondled her just right.

“I want to spank you now, Kate,” he said. “Lie down across my lap, and show me how a good girl takes it.”

“Oh, yes, Dean,” she said.  She was so graceful, untangling her long limbs, rearranging herself across his lap.

He stroked the full ass under the tight business skirt.

“Let’s get you warmed up,” he said.

“Yes, Dean,” she agreed, voice husky with expectation.

“Count for me,” he said, and he let his hand fall.  The thick wool skirt took the brunt, but it was the idea of it, as he well knew.

She was up to twenty-five before he peeled up her skirt. Her stockings were thigh highs and she had on black satin panties.  He ran his hand over her backside and the tops of her thighs, exploring the sensations of skin and satin, breathing in the obvious odor of her arousal.

“Okay, Kate,” he said, “start over from one.”

“Thank you, Dean,” she said sweetly, and wiggled a little.  He gave her another little caress before lifting his hand, slapping it down.

“Ah!” she said, jumping.  “One!”

He gave it to her a little faster, a  little harder.  She tried to find the rhythm, struggling to keep up with her counting, but he made it hard.  This time, he got to thirty, and she was panting pretty hard, and quivering by then.

“These are coming off now, okay?” he said, pulling at the black satin hem.

“Please,” she said.

“Beg me nicely,” he ordered.

“Please, Dean, please pull of my panties and spank my ass,” Kate requested, her low voice breathy and full of need.

“You pull them down and I’ll do the spanking,” he said.

“Yes, Dean,” she said, and pulled, squirming, till she got them down to her thighs.

“That’s far enough,” he said, thinking she’d like the feel of being bound.  Her ass was a little hot now, a little red.  He stroked it a little, preparing her.

“Don’t bother counting,” he said, and brought his hand down.

Dealing out discipline wasn’t usually Dean’s cup of tea — but he couldn’t lie, it made him hot: watching his hand strike her bottom, hearing the slap of flesh against flesh, hearing her moan his name as her breathing grew more and more ragged  — the contrast of her naked ass and his fed suit, the innocent bared flesh and the terrible mark he hid inside his sleeve, the violence she’d asked for and the tenderness he would dole out.

He beat her ass, carefully, thoroughly, till her legs were twitching and the sob was in her voice, then he slowed it down, and with a few hard last licks he finished.  He eased his fingers up her thigh, toward her cunt.  She was sopping.

“We’re going up stairs now, Kate,” he said.

“Yes, yes, Dean,” McElroy gasped.  Her face was red and wet with tears, but her eyes were bright and her lips were bitten, ripe and full.

“You have condoms?” he asked.

“No,” she said, abashed, eyes flashing wide.

He kissed her to console her.  He was clearly the first since her husband’s death.  Dean took it as the honor it was.

“Don’t worry, I do,” he said softly.

“Thank you, Dean,” she said, honestly.

They went up.  He took the condoms from his jacket pocket and tossed them on the bedside table.

“Undress me,” Dean ordered.

Kate took off his jacket, and folded it carefully over the back of a chair.  She undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.  She frowned a little at the tattoo, the scar where Abaddon had cut him, and the painful looking repair.

“Kiss me, here,” Dean ordered, to distract her, but also because he loved to have his nipples sucked.  She went to work, licking and biting, and Dean rewarded her with a moan, then pushed her away.

“Shoes and socks,” he reminded her. He sat down on the bed, and she knelt down, gracefully, and pulled off his shoes and socks.

“Nuzzle,” he said, pointing at his crotch. She was eager, rubbing her cheek along the bulge, kissing him through the fabric.   He let her open his pants and take them off — but stopped her before she went down on him.

He made short work of her blouse and skirt and left her in her lingerie.  A woman who wore fancy lingerie, in his experience, felt fancier in it than out of it.

“Okay, bring me the toys,” he said.

She blushed, but sounded excited when she said, “yes, Dean.”   She pulled the pleasure chest out from under the bed and showed him the contents.

She had a hefty dildo that Dean passed over, and a thick butt plug that he pulled out. She had a bullet vibe he thought looked promising.   She had handcuffs, which he rejected, and a variety of ties, which he pulled out just in case.  There were a variety of implements for punishment in the box — nipple clamps, a crop, a cat— but she hadn’t said she wanted any of those things.  Dean’s hand hovered over the cat — she held her breath.

“Do you want the cat?” he asked, watching her face.

“Yes, Dean,” she said, eyes lowered, but he saw her little smile, and he could hear her relief that he’d asked.

She closed the box and put it back. He pulled back the covers and laid her down on the bed.  He put the blindfold on her first.  Her whole body relaxed, that subtle relaxation of giving herself over.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Good girl.”

He stroked her red hair back behind her ears.

“Face down,” he said.

She wiggled into position, arms around her head.  Dean loved the way her body wanted what he had to give.

“Clasp your hands,” he said, and she did so, quick to please.

He opened the back strap of her bra. Her skin was creamy white and soft over well-toned muscles.   Dean caressed her back with the soft leather thongs of the cat, and she shivered.  He traced her limbs and gave her gentle little swats her and there, until she was shaking all over.  He warmed up her ass again with a good series of licks, until he heard it in her voice — the break over into abandon.

“Look at you, so needy,” he said. He lay his hand softly on her ass, which was hot now to the touch.  He slipped his fingers under the cloth and between her legs. She was hot and slick, and she clenched up around him when his fingers slipped inside.

“Oh, Dean, yes,” she moaned.

“Good girl,” he praised, and peeled her panties down again.

“I want you to take this in your ass,” he said gently, touching her with the plug.  It was her toy, so he assumed she knew it well.

“Yes, Dean, thank you,” she said, and relaxed her buttocks.  He found the lube in her bedside table and slicked up his finger, pressing until he felt the tight muscle relax, then slipped it inside.  She opened like a dream, moaning and trying to be good; in no time he had two fingers in and she was ready for the plug.

“Breathe out and bear down,” he ordered, and the plug slipped it, her ass pulling it greedily inside as she moaned and rocked a little.

“Turn over now,” he said, and she did.

He pulled off her loosened bra and soaked panties and tossed them away. She was spread out before him like a banquet.  He lowered himself to her breasts and feasted, biting gently and suckling, switching from side to side as she trembled and arched herself toward him.  He slipped his fingers down between her legs again — she was dripping wet.

He straddled her thighs and found the bullet vibe, pressing it against her clit.  Just as she realized what it was, he turned it on, and she tried to thrash away, but couldn’t.  The vibration drove her wild as she arched toward it and away from it, the powerful sensation too much for her already heated sex.

Dean pulled it away and she collapsed back.

“Can you be good?” Dean asked.

“Yes, Dean, yes!” she cried, panting.  Her hands were still clasped obediently over her head.

“Do you want my dick?” Dean asked.

“Yes, Dean, please — give it to me, please?” she begged.

“I want to be inside you — but don’t you dare come!” he warned.

“Please, please, Dean,” she begged.

“I’ll give you what you need,” he said, “don’t you worry.”

He snagged a condom, tore it open, and put it on.   He was certain he was clean, and she probably was too, but better safe than sorry.

He lifted her knees, putting her feet flat on the bed near her hips, so she was wide open to him, then he knelt between her legs and teased her entrance with his dick.

“Oh, oh, Dean, please, please be inside me,” she begged.

He pushed a little way inside.  He could feel her trembling, holding back her urge to dig in her heels and pull him in as deep as he would go.

He pushed in, slowly, slowly.  The plug was filling her up, making her tight.  She moaned, deep in her throat as he bottomed out, filling her up.

Then he found the vibe and put it against her clit and turned it on.

“Go ahead, come,” he said.  He grabbed her wrists above her head and held her down with all his strength, fucking her deep, barely moving, letting her convulse against him helplessly as the orgasm took her again and again.

“Good girl, good girl,” he praised as she screamed his name, her voice wracked with pleasure.

He fucked her with tiny thrusts, so deep inside, tormenting her clit with the vibe until she couldn’t even thrash, she just arched against him with all her strength and held on, sobbing in breaths.

Finally he had mercy, turned off the vibe and tossed it aside. She went limp and he threw her legs back, pumping into her cunt with powerful thrusts, as her head tossed back and forth and she chanted his name like a mantra.

“On your hands and knees,” he said.

Quickly, she complied.  The thick black base of the plug adorned her ass as he thrust into her cunt and let himself go.  She pushed back against his every thrust, eager for the fucking, until finally he crested, spilling into the condom, her hot red ass pulled tight against his hips.

Tenderly, he lay her back down and pulled out.  He went to get a wet cloth, and came back and cleaned her up, and gently pulled out the plug and cleaned her there as well.   He removed the blindfold and pulled the covers up around her and went looking in the bathroom for some lotion.  There was a tube of arnica — perfect — so he brought it back and slipped under the covers with her, applying the arnica by feel to her hot, beaten ass.

“Thank you, Kate — you were perfect,” he murmured.  “So beautiful, so good.”

“Thank you, Dean,” she mumbled, already half asleep.

He held her until she fell asleep, then got up and got dressed.  He left his fed number on her kitchen counter, and made sure the house was secure.  He found a motel room and slept the sleep of the just.

She called around 11 the next morning.

“Agent Lee?” she asked when he answered.

“Hi Kate,” he said.

“Hi Dean,” she answered, a little shy, but sounding happy.  “I hope you’ll call again the next time you’re in Kansas City.”

“I’ll try,” he said, and realized it was true.

“I just wanted you know, how good it was. It was perfect.  You were perfect, Dean,” she said.

“Thanks, Kate,” he said, and meant it. He’d made her feel good.   He’d hurt her only because she wanted him to.  He had been in control.

“Maybe next time, we could switch,” she suggested.

“I’d like that,” he said, casual as could be.

“I know you would,” she responded, sultry voice full of promise.

The world seemed a little bit brighter to Dean all the way on the long drive home.

###

Afterword:  
There is actually a place in Kansas City called Collection in the Crossroads district !!! but  I haven’t been there – I googled the name and pretty much made it up.  The name and location was too great to pass up.

In my headcanon, Lisa is Jewish, so Dean gets his Jewish expressions from her.

Also, in my headcanon, Dean would prefer to be submissive, but it’s a point of pride for him to be a fantastic service top.  I welcome any constructive criticism.

Lastly, I don't think Dean does this very often, despite his rep as a ladies' man.   But he is sex positive, and I think it seems plausible.  :)

 

 


	2. The Mark (the happy one)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Dr. McElroy have an understanding; they meet for dinner on Valentine's Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is how Dean gets his hickey in 11.13 and why he was rode so hard and put away wet. :)
> 
> I wanted to post this on Valentines/International fan works day. so if you see any errors, please let me know!

Dean had to admit, he’d been looking forward to this evening for quite a while. Seeing Jody and her girls reminded Dean how good it was to spend time with someone, anyone, who wasn’t a perfect stranger.  He and Sam were getting along great, but they were on the outs with Crowley (Dean didn’t especially count the King of Hell as his best friend, regardless of how chummy they’d been when he was still carrying the Mark), and Castiel had been scarce lately.  So sue Dean if he had called on his lady friend in Kansas City, Dr. Katherine McElroy.  
  
Their arrangement made Dean feel that somehow, without quite knowing it, he had grown up.  Here he was, wearing his best fed suit not to pull the wool over any eyes, but because he wanted to look good for Kate.  He had made reservations at her favorite restaurant and he was looking forward to spending time with her.    
  
Kate smiled at Dean as soon as she saw him.    She carried herself with confidence, as any academic might, but she had style, a little more flair than any other lady in the room.  She always looked so sleek, like a purring cat ready to sharpen her claws.    
  
He stood and kissed her on the cheek, helped her with her chair.    
  
“Dean, it’s so good to see you,” Kate said.  Her warm voice flowed through Dean like whiskey.  
  
“Likewise,” he said.  “Happy Valentines Day.”    
  
She smiled happily.  “To you as well,” she replied.    
  
The server approached with the drinks menu after Kate was seated.  Dean remembered how ill at ease he’d been the first time they went out.  He was more used to it now.  
  
“I’ll have the grapefruit one,” he said.  
  
“Me too,” Kate agreed.    
  
The restaurant was a tiny place, serving a fixed menu, and the server began bringing small plates: shrimp with white beans; eggplant on toast; tiny olives; tapenade; house made mozzarella; everything was full of delicious flavor.  
  
“Dean, did you try this toast yet?” Kate asked.  
  
“No,” he said, a little suspicious of the eggplant.    
  
Kate lifted the toast daintily and offered him a bite.  A soft flush rose through him as he ate from her hand.    
  
“Isn’t it good?” she smiled.  “I knew you’d love the food here.”  
  
“Mmhmm,” he nodded.    
  
“Would you like another shrimp?” she asked, lifting one by the tail.  He caught the look in her eye.    
  
“Okay,” he said, and the feeling ran stronger this time as she watched him feed from her hand.  
  
Deftly, throughout the meal, Kate offered him spoonfuls of her soup, morsels of breads spread with tasty sauce, and tidbits out of her main course.    Kate’s manners were impeccable, even as she held food out for Dean to taste.  No one batted an eye.    
  
By the time the dessert course arrived at the table, a luscious chocolate and berry something, Kate had the only fork in play, feeding it to Dean bite by bite.  He felt almost drunk under the attention.    
  
The server brought the check and Dean was quick enough to scoop it.  
  
“My invite, my treat,” Dean said.  
  
“This time,” she said, but he could tell she was pleased.    
  
Dean drove Kate through  downtown Kansas City, cars and buildings and lights and darkness.  Kate had sold her big old house when a building near her work had been renovated into high-end condos.  Dean had been there once before when she was in the process of moving and boxes were still stacked here and there.    
  
Now, the spare and elegant space was immaculate.  As an antiquities expert, Kate had an extensive collection of beautiful objects tastefully displayed around her home.  Dean didn’t feel quite as out-of-place as he might have once; after all, he lived in a marble palace built by the men of letters, surrounded by formidable ancient objects to which Sam and Dean were the only heirs.  
  
“Thanks for dinner, Dean. The food was excellent, the company even more so,” Kate said as they hung their winter coats in the foyer closet.  
  
“I’m glad you had a good time,” Dean said.  
  
“I’m about to have an even better one, if I’m reading the cards correctly,” Kate said with a smile.  
  
“I hope so,” Dean agreed.  
  
Kate stepped in and took Dean’s mouth in a possessive kiss.  She was shorter than him, but in her power heels she had no trouble commanding the kiss. She was a woman who knew what she wanted and knew how to get it, and Dean was only too happy to oblige.  
  
“I’m feeling feisty today,” she whispered with a laugh, peeling off his jacket and draping it over a chair.    
  
“Okey dokey,” Dean said.  
  
“Do you want to be a good boy for me, Dean?” Kate asked, easily taking the reins as she undid his tie.    
  
“Yes, Kate,” Dean said.  She didn’t like “ma’am” and she said “professor” made her think of a doddering old man in a lab coat.  
  
“Good,” Kate said.  “Let’s put you to work then, shall we?  Help me out of these things.”  
  
Kate knew from experience just how good Dean was with his hands, and how much he loved to undress her.    He eagerly knelt down to remove her heels, caressing her feet as he did so.  Kate groaned in happy relief as his fingers massaged away the stresses of the week gone by.    
  
He reached up higher and undid her silk stockings from her garter belt.  He rarely met women who wore a real garter belt any more, but Kate had always worn one.  The silk felt amazing on her strong, toned legs, and he rolled the stockings down with care, kissing her inner thighs as he did so.    
  
“You may kiss me there if you wish, until I say stop,” Kate ordered.  Dean nosed his way up her creamy thigh until his lips were pressed against smooth satin.  She smelled so good, so heady and rich, already so aroused.  Dean could have kissed her like that for hours, till the smooth cloth was drenched.  He licked against the cloth, hungry for her, eager to feel the swell of her clit against his tongue.    
  
“Stop,” Kate moaned, and Dean obediently pulled away.  
  
“Undo my zipper,” she ordered.  The back of her dress was adorned with a long, prominent zipper that went from the nape of her neck all the way down past her waist.  It was a long sweet pull, unveiling her ivory back tooth by tooth.  He held the dress and helped her step out of it.  
  
“Hang it up,” she said. “I don’t want it thrown to the floor.”  
  
Dean had a mental image of a French maid picking up clothing scattered throughout a mansion.  Come to think of it, that was the video to “Vogue” by Madonna, wank fodder for Dean for years.   Smiling to himself, Dean carefully draped the dress over the padded hanger Kate pointed out.  
  
“What are you smiling about?” Kate asked, smiling back.  
  
“How lucky I am,” Dean said, lowering his face with coy lashes.    
  
“You are a treasure,” Kate purred.  “Come here and tell me that again.”  
  
Dean came back to face Kate in her elegant underthings. Dean had seen plenty of women in the most exotic underwear, but Kate spared no expense on any detail of her wardrobe.  Exquisitely tailored to her body, the fine straps and rich lace were a treat to the eye.  Dean never assumed that he was Kate’s only playmate — but then again, she gave him no reason to assume otherwise.  He feasted his eyes on her body.    
  
“You’re so beautiful, Kate,” Dean said, sincere.  “May I touch you?”  
  
“You may — but I want a massage.  Okay, Dean?”  
  
“My pleasure, Kate,” Dean said happily as Kate pulled back the covers and lay face down on her bed.    
  
“Oh, it will be,” Kate laughed as he kicked off his shoes.    
  
She sighed with pleasure as Dean rubbed the tension out of her neck and shoulders.  The pleasant smell of almond oil rose up in a cloud from his hands as he smoothed his hands over her skin and eased the tightness of her muscles.  
  
“The common malady of every academic — tight neck and shoulders,” Kate murmured.  
  
Dean thought of Sam, how he rolled his neck and shoulders after a long session at the books.  “Mm,” he agreed, and thought he might offer Sam a shoulder rub next time research saved their lives and the world once again.  
  
“That’s good, Dean — I don’t want to get too relaxed,” Kate said.    
  
“You sure?” Dean leaned down to murmur into her ear.  
  
“I think so,” Kate said.  “Now your turn.  Lie back, Dean.”  
  
Dean obeyed, wondering what she had planned.  Kate loved discipline when she was subbing, but not as much when she was in charge.     
  
“I want to mess you up,” she said, straddling him.  The intricate lace of her bra was beautiful, but not as compelling as the avid look in her eyes.    “You come to see me all cleaned up, in your nice suit and somehow, it doesn’t seem right.  That beautiful car you drive, so powerful and fast, it makes me think of you in boots and jeans and a leather jacket.”  
  
Dean’s jaw dropped a little as Kate unknowingly called up the jacket Dean had gotten from his dad, that he had worn for years.    
  
“I thought so,” she said. “You don’t have to do that.  You impress me no matter what you’re wearing.”  
  
Dean didn’t know what to say.  “I, uh, wanted to take you somewhere nice.”  
  
“It was wonderful,” she said warmly.  “But I like chili dogs, too.”  
  
“Okay,” Dean said.  It was such a relief, being with Kate.  Part of him was still thinking about Amara, the Darkness he couldn’t seem to free himself from.  But the look in Kate’s eye, her swift fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt, might stand a chance of driving those thoughts to the back of his mind.  
  
“You make such pretty sounds when I do this,” she said, and draped herself across him to suck his nipple into her mouth.  He groaned, couldn’t help it, and she chuckled as she worked him with her tongue and teeth, while tweaking the other one between her fingers.  It made his dick jump, and she felt it, lying across him.  She kept going, licking and sucking, tweaking and pulling, until he was moaning.  
  
“Good, Dean, so good, the way you lie still and take it,” Kate praised.  “I like it very much.  I’d love to make you come, just like that, in your pants, like a kid.  What do you think?”  
  
“It’s your call, Kate,” Dean gasped as she continued to work him.  Truth be told, he was already close.  
  
“Well, we do have all night, and tomorrow’s not a work day,” she said loftily, and went back to tormenting him. As she sucked, he tried not to thrust against her belly, but she undulated against him, and he was leaking into his boxer briefs, the wet spot sticky against the head of his dick.    
  
“I want you to come, Dean,” she said, “make a mess for me in your pants.”  
  
Dean imagined what he must look like, splayed on her bed in his opened dress shirt, with this beautiful woman writhing across him, using him.  Her little hand rubbed down, across the material of his dress pants.  
  
“You’re so hard, I know you can,” she said, and squeezed him a little harder.    
  
His dick jumped against her hand.  She wanted him to. But it was so early.  He wanted to make the evening count.    
  
“Let go, Dean,” she said, “let go, let me hear you,” and he did.  It felt like falling, like freedom, like soaring, and he moaned for her as the pleasure poured out of him.    
  
“That was good,” she said.  “I have a treat for you.”  
  
“Huh?” Dean asked.    
  
“I bought you a toy,” Kate said. “I’ve always wanted to see one of these in action.  Are you game?”  
  
“If you say so,” Dean said. She’d never given him any reason to draw the line.  
  
“Excellent!” she said, and pulled her toy box out from under the bed.  She drew out a black satin bag and a bottle of lube.    
  
“This part goes in your ass, okay?” she said, excited, taking out a weirdly shaped item.  
  
“Okay,” Dean said.  His head was still swimming, relaxed from coming.  She could have said “these porcupine quills go into your flesh, okay?” and he might have easily gone along with it.  
  
“This is the smaller one, I think it will be plenty,”  Kate said as she lubed it up.  
  
Dean knew that Kate knew that Dean’s ass was no virgin.  He had a butt plug that he used sometimes when he was alone.  It made everything just that much more intense.  The thing she had wasn’t a challenge, despite its odd shape.    
  
She pulled off his pants and soiled boxers and worked the thing slowly and gently inside him.  It felt like a finger, maybe a little bit bigger, but longer, and it was definitely finding the magic spot.  
  
“Oh!” The thing was pressing against his prostate and every time he clenched it massaged him, right there.  Oh, fuck, it felt good.    
  
“Yes, Dean, that’s it, that’s right,” she said.  She was just watching him, and he wanted to watch her in return — her hungry, happy gaze, her dark eyes, her wicked smile — but his eyes rolled back in his head as the thing inside him pulsated to the beat of his own pleasure.      
  
“You look so good, Dean, I wish you could see,” Kate murmured.  
  
“Phone,” Dean groaned as stars went off behind his eyes.  
  
“Oh!  Of course!” Kate found Dean’s phone in the pocket of his discarded pants and used his fingerprint to open it, turning on the camera.  
  
As much as Dean loved porn, he never filmed himself.  Always on the road, he didn’t want the reminders of one-night-stands he’d left behind.  Whatever Kate was, she wasn’t a one-night stand.  He realized she was truly a friend, with benefits.  She knew him, welcomed him, thought about him, bought him naughty presents, wore her most expensive, naughtiest lingerie to show off for him.   He realized, he wanted to return the favor, show off a little for her too.  
  
“Kate, Kate, it feels so good,” he moaned.  The more he moaned, the better it felt in fact, and as he clamped down on it, his dick twitched and filled.    
  
“Good boy,” Kate said as she filmed him.  
  
The sensation of being watched, being praised, being evaluated and not found wanting — it felt even better than the magic thing throbbing inside him.  
  
“Kate, don’t you want — you — I —“ Dean struggled to speak through the building sensations as they threatened to overwhelming.     
  
“Watch me,” Kate whispered, and straddled his chest.  The lace and elastic of her garter belt framed her trim waist and belly perfectly; the black satin he’d mouthed at before smelled like paradise. She was holding his phone in her left hand as her perfectly manicured fingers slipped behind the satin and she moaned, so nicely, teasing him.  It was like a dream, a sultry, pornographic dream, his favorite kind.  But it was real.  Kate liked him; she wanted him here; she’d probably want him to come back again sometime soon.  She didn’t know everything about him, but she could see the devil’s trap tattoo, right there before her eyes; she knew he dealt with danger on a daily basis; and she was more than willing to grab her share of good times with Dean along for the ride.    
  
Kate was frigging herself, slowly, inches from his face, straddling his chest, while her toy was deep inside him, making him leak out trickles of come.  It was all too much.  
  
“Please, please,” he found himself begging. “Let me come, can I, Kate?”  
  
“Wait,” she gasped, teasing herself to the edge.  She stroked herself again, even slower, deeper, and then, once again.    
  
“Oh, yes,” she said, to herself.  “That’s so good.”  
  
She swung herself off him and kneeled beside him.  “Okay,” she said, “you can come when you’re ready,” and she reached out and took his dick in her hand, smoothly jacking him with his own slickness.    
  
“Look at me, Dean,” she said, and he lifted his eyes to hers and came, shooting all over himself as she jacked him.  The thing inside him was relentless, making him give it all up, every pulse seemed to wring just that much more out of him, like it would never end. And she just kept filming.  
  
“Mm,” she said, “oh, Dean,” and she came on the hand she'd just used on him, moaning his name.    
  
She gave him her salty fingers to suck as his dick twitched helplessly, still leaking a little.  
  
“I think you’re done,” she said, stroking his forehead.  
  
“Hah,” he said, helpless to say anything much more coherent.  
  
“So good, Dean,” she praised as she gently pulled out the toy.  “Perfect.  So, so sexy, just as I hoped.”  
  
“Nnn,” Dean moaned, the echoes of his orgasm still ringing through his exhausted body.  
  
“Why don’t you go home, just like this,” Kate said. “I know it’s a long drive, but you can go as fast as you want on the highways once you get out of town.  And when you get home, have a drink on me.  I bought you a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue.”  
  
“Primo,” Dean murmured.  
  
She laughed. “Uh-huh.”  
  
“You don’t want me to stay?” Dean asked, trying not to sound plaintive.  
  
She kissed him then, hard, on the neck, and Dean knew she was leaving a mark.  “I want you to go, still wanting more.”  
  
“Oh, I do,” Dean said.    
  
“Put your clothes on, just like this, and when you get to your bed, before you go to sleep, drink to my health and to the next time,” Kate purred.  Then she marked him again, right in the same spot for good measure.  
  
Dean buttoned his shirt, pulled on his pants, pocketed his phone, and kissed Kate goodbye.  He was back in the Impala and cruising across Kansas, home to the Bunker before he knew it.  
  
He lifted a glass before he hit the memory foam, just as she had said.  “Dr. Katherine Moira McElroy, a very sexy doctor.” He downed the whiskey and was out before he hit the pillow.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Kate's lingerie is Donna by Agent Provocateur. Maybe someday I’ll win the lottery and wear a set of undies that cost nearly $600. Probably not.  
> * The toy Kate uses on Dean is an Aneros prostate stimulator.


End file.
